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AVANDA! 



I Drama in 4 AetsJ 



AND PROLOOUH. 



ADAPTED FROM QUID A, BY 



EdIVLTJND IVlORSE, 



1884 



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WANDA. 



DRAMA IN FOUR ACTS 



AND PROLOGUE. 



ADAPTED FROM OVIDA, BY 



EdIMUND IVIQRSE 



18 8 4:. 'Hr/^'^^^ 



'*/» 






COURIER COMPANY, 

Steam Printers, Evansville, Indiana. 



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^T'- 






WANDA PROLOGUE. 



Paul Zaberoff— 

This is pleasant here in this miserable village with a 
wheel off my telegue! Say, Maro, whose house is that ? 
Servant — 

Master, it is thine ! 
P. Z.— 

Mine ! I had forgotten; I suppose my agents know it. 
Outside of Petersburg, Russia is to me detestable. And here 
I look around me an absolute stranger in the place where 
I am absolutely lord. All these square leagues are mine ; 
all these miserable huts; all these poor lives; yet I have a 
vague remembrance of being here once before. 
Servant — 

My lord, the vehicle is repaired, and all is ready for 
our departure. 
Maritza — 

Stay, my lord ! Stay, my lord ! 
P, Z.— 

Who is this ? 
Blacksmith — 

It is only Mad Maritza ! 
Maritza 

Let me come ! let me come ! I would give him back 
the jev/el he left here ten years ago. All hail to my lord ! 
and heaven be with him. The poor Maritza comes to give 
him back what he left. 
P. Z.-~ 

Nay, good mother, keep it; whatever it be, you have 
earned the right. Is it a jewel, you say ? 
Maritza — 

It is a jewel. 
P. Z,— 

Then keep it. I had forgotten that I was ever here. 
Maritza — 

Aye, the great lord had forgotten ? There is th^ 
jewel, Paul Ivanovitch ! (brings him the child.) 



p. z.— 

A handsame child ! may the land have many such 
to serve the Czar. Is he your grandson, good mother ? 
Maritza — 

He is thy son, my lord ! 
P, Z.— 

My son? 
Maritza — 

Ay ! my lord has forgotten ; the lord tarried but one 
night, but he bade my Sacha serve drink to him in his 
chamber, and on the morrow when he left Sacha wept. 
The lord has forgotten ! 
P. Z.— 

Where is the mother? 

Maritza — 

My Sacha died four summers ago. Always Sacha 
hoped that the lord might some day return. 
P. Z— 

Fool ! why did you not marry her ? There were 
plenty of men, I would have given more dowery. 
Maritza — 

Sacha would not wed, what the lord had honored she 
thought holy. 
P. Z.— 

Poor soul ! (turning to the boy), do you understand 
what we say ? 
Vassia — 

I understand. 
P. Z.— 

What is your name ? 
Vassia — 

Vassia Kazan. 
P. Z.— 

Are you happy ? 
Vassia — 

What is that ? I do not know. 
P. Z.— 

Rise up, since you are my son ! 
Maritza — 

I have delivered the jewel to the lord who owns it ; 
I have done Sacha's will. 
P. Z.— 

These jewels are as many as the sands of the sea, and 



as worthless ! Nevertheless the boy shall be cared for, 
and well taught, and have all that gold can get for him ; 
and be sent away, for here he is only a serf! Farewell! 
You are magnificently handsome, my poor child — indeed, 
who knows what you will be, a jewel or a toad's eye ? 
Send him to a great school I send him out of Russia ! spare 
no cost ! make him a gentleman ! Again, farewell ! 



ACT I. 
Scene 1st. 

Wanda — 

You cannot carry arms here I 
Sabran — 

You have lost me the only eagle I have seen for 
years. 
Wanda — 

That bird was not an eagle, sir; it was a white 
throated vulture— a Kutengeier ; but, had it been an eagle 
— or a sparrow — you could not have killed it on my land ! 
Sabran — 

1 have not the honor to know in whose presence I 
stand. But I have imperial permission to shoot wherever 
I choose. 
Wanda — 

His Majesty has no more loyal subject than myself ; 
but his dominion does not extend over my forests. You 

are on the ground of Hohenszalras, and your offence 

Sabran 

I know nothing of Hohenszalras! 
Wanda — 

You know Hohenszalras now ! Men have been shot 
dead for what you were doing ! If you indeed be a friend 

of my Emperor, of course you are welcome here, but 

Sabran 

What right have you to do me this indignity ? 
Wanda 

Right ! I have the right to do anything with you I 
please ! You seem to understand but little of forest laws. 



6 

Sahran — 

Madam, were you not a woman, you would have had 
bloodshed. 
Wanda — 

Oh ! very likely. That sometimes happens, although 
seldom, as all the Hone Tauern know how strictly these 
forests are preserved. My men are looking to me for per- 
mission to break your rifle. That is the law, sir ! 
Sabran — 

Since '48 all the old forest laws are null and 
void ; it is scarcely allowable to talk of trespass now. 
Wanda 

The follies of '48 have nothing to do with Ho- 
henszalras. We hold charters of our own by grants 
and rights, which even Rudolf of Hapsburg never dare 
meddle with. I am not called upon to explain all this to 
you, but you appear to labor under such strange delusions 
that it is well to dispel them. Are you indeed a friend of 
the Kaiser ? 
Sabran — 

I am no friend of his ; I met him awhile ago, Zad 
hunting on the Thorstein. His signature is in my pocket ; 
bid your jagers to take it out. 
Wanda 

I will not doubt your word. You look a gentleman ; 
if you will give me your promise to shoot no more on these 
lands, I will set you free and render you up your rifle. 
Sabran — 

You have the law with you ; since I can do no less, I 
promise. 
Wanda — 

You are ungracious, sir; that is neither wise nor grate- 
ful, since you are nothing more or better than a poacher 
on my lands. Nevertheless I will trust you. Follow that 
path into the ravine, cross that, ascend the opposite hills, 
and you will find the highroad ; I advise you to take it, sir. 
Good day to you, sir. 
Otto— 

Alas, my Countess, why have you let him go ? 
Wanda 

The Keiser has made him sacred. What strange 
creatures we are ! The vulture would have dropped in 
the ravine ; he would have never found it, The audacity, 



too, to fire on a Kutengeier! If it had been any 
lesser bird, one might have pardoned it. Where could the 
stranger have come from, Otto ? 
Otto— 

He must have come over the Hundspitz, my Count- 
ess. Any other way he would have been stopped by our 
men and lightened of his rifle. 
Wanda — 

The Hundspitz? 

Otto— 

That must be, and for sure, if any honest man had 
tried to come that way, he would have been hurled head- 
long down the ice-wall. 
Wanda — 

He is the Reiser's protege, Otto. 

Scene 2d — Terrace at Hohenszalras. 

Wanda — 

How often do we thank God for the mountains? yet 
we ought every night we pray. 

How could I ever forget him, so long as that water 
glides there. Oh Bela, my dearest brother ! 
Princess Ottilie — 

Yet her majesty is so right — so right, so wise her 

majesty is so right. 
Wanda — 

It would not become my loyal aftection to say she 
couid be wrong. But still, I know myself, and I know 
the world very well, and I for one prefer Hohenszalras 
to it. 
Princess O. — 

Hohenszalras is all very well in the summer and au- 
tumn, but for a woman of your age and your possessions 
to pass your days talking to farmers and fishermen, pouring 
over books, perplexing yourself as to whether it is right 
for you to accept wealth that comes from such a source of 
danger to human lives as your salt mines, it is absurd ; it 
is ludicrous. You are made for something more than a 
political economist ; you should be in the great world. 
Wanda — 

I prefer my liberty and soUtude. 



8 



Princess O. — 

Liberty ! Who or what could dictate to you in the* 
world ? You reigned there once, you would always reign 
there. 
Wanda — 

Social life is a bondage as an Empress's is. It denies 
one the greatest luxury of life — solitude. 
F. O.— 

Certainly if you love solitude so much, you have your 
heart's desire here. It is an Alverina ! It is a Mt. Athas ! 
a hermitage only tempered by horses. 
Wanda — 

By many horses. Certainly dearest Countess, what 
would you have ? Austrians are all centaurs and Ama- 
zons. I am only like my Kaiseriun in that passion. 
P. O — 

Surely you will go to Ischl or lodollo this autumn, 
since her majesty wishes it. 
IVanda — 

Her majesty is so kind as to wish it. Let us leave 
time to show what it holds for us. This is scarcely sum- 
mer ; yesterday was the 15th of May. 
P. O.— 

It is horribly cold ; it is always horribly cold here, 
even in mid summers. And when it does not snow, it 
rains, you cannot deny that. 
Wanda — 

Come now ! we have seen the sun all day to-day ; I 
hope we shall see it many days — they have begun planting 
out you see. The gardens will soon be gorgeous. 
P. O.— 

When the mist allows it to be seen, it will be, I dare 
say. It is tolerable here m the summer, though never 
agreeable ! But the Empress is so right it is absurd to shut 
yourself up in this gloomy place ; you are bound to return 
to the world. You owe it to your position to be seen in it 
once more. 
Wanda 

The world does not want me, my dear aunt, nor do I 
want the world. 

P. a— 

That is sheer perversity 



Wanda — 

How am I perverse? I know the world very well, 
and I know no one is necessary to it unless it be a Herr 
Von Bismarck. 
F. O — 

Surely one's own friends and foes — people like one's 
self in a word must be as interesting as Hans or Peter, 
Katie or Grethel, with their crampons or their milk pails. 
Besides there are in the world political movements, in- 
fluences, interests. 
Wanda — 

Oh, intrigue ? as useful as M'dme de Lamballe's or 
M'dme de Longuville's ? No ! I do not believe there is 
even that in our time, when even diplomacy itself is fast 
becoming a mere automatic factor in a world that is gov- 
erned by newspapers, and which has changed the tyrany 
of wits for the tyrany of crowds. The time has gone by 
when a coterie of Countesses could change ministries, if 
they ever did so out of the novels ot Disraeli. 
F. O.— 

You are very hard to please, I know, but say what 
you will, it becomes rediculous for a person of your age, 
your great position and your personal beauty, to immerse 
yourself e ernally in what is virtually no better than con- 
finement in a fortress. 
Wanda — 

A court is more of a prison to me. I know both 
lives, snd I prefer this. As for my being hard to 
please, I think I was very gay and thoughtless before 
Bela's death. Since then all the earth has grown gray 
for me. 

F. a— 

Forgive me, my beloved ! 
Wanda — 

I understand all you wish for me dear aunt ; believe 
me, I envy people when I hear them laughing light-heart- 
edly among each other. I think I shall never laugh so 
again. 
P. O.— 

If you would only marry 

Wanda — 

You think marriage amusing. If you do, it is only 
because you escaped it. 



10 

p. a— 

Amusing ! I could speak of no sacrament of our 
Holy Church as amusing. You rarely display such levity 
of language. I confess I do not comprehend you. Mar- 
riage would give you interests in life which you seem to 
lack sadly now. It would custom you to the world. It 
would be a natural step to take with such vast possessions 
as yours. 
Wanda — 

It is not likely I shall ever take it. 

P. a— 

I know it is not likely ; I am sorry that it is not. 
Yet what nobler creature does God's earth contain than 
your cousin Egon ? 
Wanda — 

Egon ? Yes, he is a good and brave and loyal gen- 
tleman, none better ; but I shall no more marry him than 
Donan here will wed the forest doe. 
P. O. 

Yet he has loved you for more than ten years. But if 
not he, there are many others — men of high enough place 
to be above all suspicion of mercenary motives. No wo- 
man has been more adored than you, Wanda; look at 
Hugo Landrassy. 
Wanda — ■ 

Oh, pray spare me their enumeration. It is like the 
Catalogue of Ships. 
Major Domo— 

Would it please the ladies to dine ? 
Wanda 

What a disagreeable obligation dining is. 
P.O. 

It is very wicked to think so when a merciful Creator 
has appointed our appetites for our consolation and sup- 
port ; it is only an ingrate who is not thankful lawfully to 
indulge them. 
Wanda — 

That view of them never occured to me. I think 
you must have stolen it, aunt, from some abbe galant or 
some chauvinesse as lovely as yourself in the last century. 
Alas ! if not to care to eat, be ungrateful ; I am a sad in- 
grate. Donan and Neva are more ready subscribers to 
your creed. 



11 

p. o.— 

I think we shall have wild weather. 
Wanda — 

I think so too. It is coming very soon, and I fear 
I did a very cruel thing this morning. 
P. 0.— 

What was that? 
Wanda — 

I sent a stranger to find his way over our hills to Ma- 
Irey as best he might. He will hardly have reached it by 

now, and if a storm should come 

P. O.— 

A stranger ? 
Wanda — 

Only a poacher, but he was a gentleman, which made 
his crime the worse. 
P.O.^ 

A gentleman, and you sent him over the hills without 
a guide ! 
Wanda — 

Why, he would have shot a Kutengeier ! 
P. O.— 

A Kutengeier is a horrid beast; and a stranger just 
for an hour or so, would be welcome. 
Wanda— 

Even if his name were not in the Hofkalender. 
P. O.— 

If he had been a peddler or a clockworker, you would 
have sent him to rest. For a gentlewoman, Wanda, and 
so proud a one as you are, you are curiously cruel to your 
own class. 
Wanda — 

I am always cruel to poachers ; and to shoot a vulture 
in the month of May ! 

I am troubled for the traveler ; I trust he is safely 
housed. 

P. O. — If he had been a pastry cook from the Engadine* 
or a sedicious heretical colporteur from Geneva you would 
have sent him into the kitchen to feast. 
Wanda — 

I hope he is safely housed ; it is several hours ago ! he 
may have reached the post-house. 



12 

P. O.— 

You have the satisfaction of thinking the Kutengeier 
is safe setting on some rock tearing a fish to pieces. Will 
you have some coffee or some tea ? You look disturbed 
my dear. After all you say the man was a poacher. 
Wonda — 

Yes; but I ought to have seen him safe off my 
ground. There are a hundred kinds of deaths on the 
hills for any one who does not know them. Well, let us 
look at the weather from the hall, we can see better from 
there. 

Scene 3rd — The Storm. 

Wanda — 

How the mountains echo back the thunder ; it sounds 
like salvoes of artillery. See how redly the beacon of the 
Holy Vale glimmers through the darkness. The great 
white peaks and pinnacles flash strangely as the lightning 
illuminates them. See how gross Wanda in the Glockner 
towers above all others; in the glow it seems like ice and 
fire mingled. They are like the great white throne of the 
Apocalypse. " Open one of those windows and listen. I 
fancy I heard a shout — a scream — I am not certain ; but 
listen well." Oh Bela, my Bela, think not that I forget. 
Hubert — 

There is some sound; it comes from the lake. But 
no boat could live long in that water, my Countess. 
Wanda — 

No; but we must do what we can. It may be one of 
the lake fishermen caught in the storm before he could 
make for home. Ring the alarm-bell, and go out all of 
you to the water-stairs ; I will come too. Make no con- 
fusion ; there is no danger in the castle ; there is some 
boat, or some swimmer on the lake. Light the terrace 
beacon, and we shall see. ''They may be drowned, I 
hear nothing. Have you the rope and the life-boat 
ready? We must wait for more light." "For the love of 
God, be quick!" 
Sabran — 

Madam, behold me in your power again. 
Wanda— 

You are welcome, sir ; any stranger or friend would 
be welcome m such a night. Pray do not waste your 



13 

breath or time in courtesies ; come up the steps and hurry 
to the house, you must be faint and bruised. 
Sabran — 

No, no. 
Otto— 

Keep you still ; you have the Countess' orders. Tres- 
pass has cost you dear, my master. 
Wanda — 

I do not think he is»greatly hurt ; but go to him doc- 
tor, and see that he is warmly housed, and has hot drinks. 
Put him in the stranger's gallery, and pray, take care my 
aunt is not alarmed. 
Princess Otiilie — 

It is unkind of you to go out in that mad way in 
such a night as this, and return looking so unlike having 
an adventure. 
Wanda — 

There has been no adventure, but there is what may 
do as well. A handsome stranger who has been saved 
from drowning. *' Bela, my beloved, think not that I for- 
get." 
P. O.- 

Then there is an adventure ; tell me quick ! My 
dear, silence is very stately and very becoming to you, but 
sometime — excuse me— you do push it to annoying ex- 
tremes. 
Wanda — 

I was afraid of agitating you. The stranger I sent 
over the hills was rescued from the lake ; he is unhurt. 

P. a— 

And I never knew that a poor soul was m peril, and 
is that the last you have seen of him ? have you never 

asked 

Wa?tda — 

Hubert says he is only bruised. They have taken 
him to the stranger's gallery. Here is Herr Greswold ! 
he will tell us more. 
P. O.— 

He is a gentleman, think you ? 
Gfeswold. — 

Yes. 
P. O.— 

And of what rank ? 



14 

G.— 

It is impossible for me to say. 
P. 0.~ 

It is always possible. Is his linen fine; is his skin 
smooth ; are his hands white and slender ; are his wrists 
and ankles small ? 
G.— 

I am sorely grieved, Princess, to say I have taken no 
notice of these things ; I was occupied in my diagnosis of 
the patient's state ; he had been a long time in the water, 
and the szalresse is of a dangerous temperature at night. 
P. O.— 

It is very interesting, but pray observe what I have 

named, now that you return to his chamber. (Exit G.) 

I wish one could know who he is; to harbor an unknown 
person in these days of democracies and dynamite is not 
agreeable. 
Wanda — 

What does it matter ; though he were a nihilist or a 
convict from the mmes, he would have to be sheltered to- 
night. Dear aunt, come with me, I have asked Fadier 
Ferdinand to have a mass to-night for Bela. I fancy Bela 
is glad that no other life has been taken by the lake. 

Scene Stranger's Gallery. 

Sabran — 

Am I in heaven ? 
Gresnold — 

You are in the burg of Hohenszalras. The music 
you hear comes from the chapel ; there is a midnight mass 
— a mass of thanksgiving for you. 
S.— 

Twice in that woman's power. Can I not disentangle 
the memories from the dreams that haunt me of the Nibel- 
ungen queen, who all night long I've seen in her golden 
armor, with eyes that, like those of the Greek nymph, 
dazzling them on whom they gaze to madness; has dream 
and fact so woven themselves I cannot sever the trio ? 
G.— 

How does the gentleman feel this morning ? 
5.— 

I saw a lady last night. 



15 

G.— 

Certainly, you saw our lady. 
S.— 

What do you call her ? 
G,— 

She is the Countess Wanda von Szalras ; she is sole 
mistress here. But for her, my dear sir, I fear me you 
would be now lying in those unfathomed depths, that the 
bravest of us fear. 
S,— 

I was a madman to try the lake with such an overcast 
sky, but I missed my road, and I was told that it lay on 
the other side of the water ; some peasant tried to dis- 
suade me from crossing, but I am a good rower and swim- 
mer, too, so I set forth to pull myself over your lake. 
G.— 

With a sky black as ink ? I suppose you are used to 
more serene summers ; midsummer is not so different from 
mid-winter here, that you can trust to its tender mercies. 
S.— 

She took my gun away from me in the morning ; it 
makes the bread and wine bitter. 
G.— 

Were you paoching ? Oh, that is almost a hanging 
offence in the Hohenszalras woods. Had you met Otto 
without our Lidy he would most likely have shot you with- 
out warning. 
S.— 

Are you savages in the Tauern ? 
G.— 

Oh, no ; but we are very feudal yet, and our forest 
laws have escaped alteration in this especial part of the 
province. 

^'— 

She has been very hospitable to me, since my crime 

was so great. 

G.— 

She is the soul of hospitality, and the schloss is a hos- 
pice, but take some tokay. My dear sir you had best lay 
still, and I will send you some journals and books. 
5.— ^ . 

I would rather get up and go away. These bruises 
are nothing ; I will thank your lady, as you call her, and 



16 

then go on my way as quickly as I can. 
G,— 

I see you do not understand feudal ways, although 
you hive suffered from them. You may get up if you 
wish, but I am sure my lady will not let you leave here to- 
day. The rain is falling in torrents ; a bridge has broken 
down over the Bargenback, which you must cross to get 
away; if you were to insist they would harness the horses 
for you, but you would possibly kill the horses, and per- 
haps the postilions, and then not even get far away ; you 
had fir better wait at least until dawn. 
S.— 

I had rather burden your lady with an unwelcome 
guest than kill her horses, certainly. How is she sole 
mistress here ? Is there no Count von Szalras ; is she a 
widow ? 
G.— 

She was never married. 
S.- 

A very happy woman to bi so rich and so free ; she 
is very handsome — indeed beautiful. I now remember 
having: heard of her in Paris. Her hand has been esteemed 
one of the great prizes of Europe. 
G.— 

I think she will never marry. 
S.— 

Oh, my dear doctor, who can make such a prophecy 
for any woman who is still young — at least she looks 
young ; what age m ly she be ? 
G.— 

She is twenty-four years of age on Ascension Day. 
As for happiness, when you know the Countess Wanda, 
you will know that she would go out as poor as St. 
Elizabeth, and dethroned like her, most willingly, could 
she by such a sacrifice see her brothers living around her. 
6".— 

Eh? 
G.— 

You do not know her. 
S.— 

I know humanity- You will kindly take all my apol- 
ogies and regrets to the Countess, and give her my name, 
the Marquis de Sabran ; she can satisfy herself as to my 



17 

identity, at any embassy she may care to consult. 
G.— 

Sabran ! Sabran!. You! Siibran who edited the 
''Mexico?" 
S.— 

Long ago; yes. Have you heard of it? 
G.— 

Heard of it ! Do you take us for barbarians, sir ? 
It is here, both in my small library, which is the collection 
of a specialist, and in the great Hbrary of the castle, which 
contains half a million of volumes. 

I nm twice honored. 

a— 

May I not be permitted to congratulate you, sir ? To 
have produced that great work is to possess a title to the 
gratitude and esteem of all educated men. 
S.— 

You are very good, but all that is great in that book 
is the Marquis Xavar's, I am but the mere compiler. 
G — 

The compilation, the editing of it required no less 
learning than the original writer displayed, and that was 
immense. 
S,— 

You are very good, but you will forgive me if I say 
that I have heard so much of the ''Mexico" that I am 
tempted to wish I had never produced it. I did so as a 
duty ; it was all I could do in honor of one whom I owed 
far more than mere life itself. Give me my belt. Your 
Countess will doubtless recognize her Emperor's signature; 
it will serve at least as a passport, if not as a letter of pre- 
sentation. It is a magnificent hospice; why did she offer 
me that outrage — to take my rifle from me. It goes hard 
with me to lie under her roof, to taste her wine and bread. 
' Tis trespass on this woman's hospitality. My lad, cannot 
I get a carriage for Lend ? My servant is waiting for me 
there. 
Lad — 

There are no carriages here but my lady's, and she 
will not let you stir this afternoon, my lord. 
S.— 

But I have no coat. 



18 

Lad — 

The Herr Professor thought you could perhaps man- 
age with one of these. They are all Count Gela's, who 
was a tall man and about your make. If yoa could wear 
one of these, my lord, for this evening, we will send as 
soon as it is possible, for your servant and clothes to St. 
Johann. It is impossible, to-day, because the bridge is 
down over the Burgenbach. 

S.— 

You are all of you too good. 

What a grand house to be shut up in the heart of the 
mountains; I do believe what romance there still is in the 
world, does lie in these forests of Austria, which have all 
the twilight and the solitude that would suit Merlin or the 
Sleeping Beauty better than anything we have in France, 
except, indeed, here and there an old chateau like Chen- 
onceaux or Maintenon. 

G.— 

The world has not spoiled us as yet; we see few stran- 
gers; our people are full of old faiths, old loyalties, old 
traditions. They are a sturdy and yet a tendfr people. 
They are as fearless as their own Steinbock, and they are 
as reverent as saints, in monastic days. Our mountains 
are as grand as the Swiss ones; but, thank heaven, they 
are unspoiled and little known. I tremble when I think of 
the time — they have begun to climb the Gross Gockner ; 
all the mystery and glory of our glaciers will vanish when 
they become mere points of ascention. The alpinstock of 
the tourist is to the everlasting hills what railroad metals 
are to the plains. Thank God, the few railroads that we 
have are hundreds of miles asunder. 
S.— 

You are a reactionist, doctor. 
G.— 

I am an old man, and I have learned the vale of re- 
pose. You know we are called a slow race. It is only 
the unwise among us who have the quicksilver in their 
brain and toes. 

You have gold in the former, at least, and I dare say 
quicksilver is in your feet, too, when there is charity to be 
done. (Am I not to see her at all ?) 



19 

G. 

This was painted last year, at the CouLt ss' request. 
It is admirably like her. 

6'.-- 

It is a noble picture ; but what a very proud woman 
she looks. 

G.— 

Blood tells for more than most people know or ad- 
mit. It is natural; my lady, with the blood of so many 
mighty nobles in her, should not be proud. 
6'.— 

Where are the ladies ? 
G.— 

The Princess is at her devotions. As for our lady, 
no one ever pisturbs her or knows what she is doing. 
When she wants any of us ordinary folks, we are sum- 
moned. You know this is an immense estate ; a palace at 
the capitol, and one at Salzberg; not to speak of the large 
estates in Hungary and the mines of Galecia. All these 
our lady manages herself; she is her own secretary. 
S,— 

A second Maria, Theresa. 
G.— 

Not dissimilar, perhaps. Only where our great queen 
sent out thousands to their death. The Countess von 
Szalras saves many lives ; there are no mines in the world 
where there is so much comfort and so little peril as those 
of her's in Staneslau. 
S.— 

Heavens how it rains ; is that common here ? 
G.— 

Very common; indeed, we pass two thirds of the 
year between snow and water; but we have great com- 
pensation. Where do you see such graze, such forests, 
such gardens, where the summer sun does shine ? 
Hubert — 

My lady desires that the Marquis would favor them 
with his presence ! {Aside). Look you, since Count Gela rode 
to his death at the head of the White Hussars, so grand a 
man as this stranger has not set foot in this house. 



20 

ACT II. 
P. O-- 

Monsieur de Marquis, I desire none of your eloquent 
thanks. Age is sadly selfish ; I did nothing to resque you, 

"unless, indeed, heaven heard my unworthy prayers " 

and this house is not mine, nor anything in it. The owner 
of it is my grand niece, the Countess Wanda von Szalras. 
S.— 

That I had your intercessions with prayer, however 
indirectly, is more than I deserve. For the Countess 
Wanda, I have been twice in her power, and she has been 
very generous. 
P. O.— 

She has done her duty, nothing more ; as for leaving 
us this day, it is out of the question. The storm is terrible ! 
I fear it is even impossible for your servant to come from 
St. Johann. 
S.— 

I have wanted for nothing; and my Parisian rogue is 
quite as well gaming and smoking his days away at Sanct 
Johann. How can I ever express all my sense of profound 
obligations to you who have laid me under, stranger that 
I am. 

P. a— 

At least we were bound to atone for the incivility of 
the Szalrasse. It is a very horrible country to live in ; my 
niece thinks it Arcadia. But an Arcadia subject to the 
most terrible floods and frosts and snows, does not com- 
mend itself to me; no doubt it is very grand and romantic 

(can he be some crown prince in disguise ? no, I know 

every crown prince in Europe). My niece, the Countess 
Wanda, begs you to excuse her, she is tired from the storm 
last night. 
S. — Aside. 

(She does not wish to see me). You leave me nothing 
to regreat Princess. 
P. O.— Aside. 

(I have said she was tired, she who is never more 
tired than the eagles are). You have no appetite ? 
5.— 

Pardon me, I have a good one, but I have always 
been content to eat little and drink less ; it is the secret of 
health, and my health is all my riches. 



21 

P. O.— 

I should think your riches in that respect inexhaust- 
ible. 
S.— 

Oh^ yes; I have never had a day's illlness, except 
once long ago in the Mexican swamps. 
P. O.— 

You have traveled much. 



jP. O.— 

It is my niece, the Countess Von Szalras Wanda, 

my love, I was not aware you were here ; I thought you 
were in your own room. Allow me to make you ac- 
quainted wiih your guest, whom you have already received 
twice with little ceremony I believe. 
Wanda — 

I fear I have been inhospitable, sir ; are you wholly 
unhurt ? You had a rough greeting from Hohenszalras. 
S.— 

I am but a vagrant,madam; and have no right even to 
your charity, 
Wanda — 

You were a poacher, certainly, but that is forgiven. 
My aunt has taken you under her protection ; you had the 
Keiser's already. With such a dual shelter you are safe. ; 
are you quite recovered ? I have to ask your pardon for 
not sending one of my men to guide you to Matrey. 
S.— 

Nay, if you had done so, I should not have enjoyed 

the happiness of being your debtor. You 

Wanda — 

Pray carry no such burden of imaginary debt, and 
have no scruples in staying as long as you like ; we are a 
mountain refuge, use it as you would a monastery. But 
how came you on the lake last evening ; can you not read 
the skies? 
S.— 

I am a strong swimmer and a good rower ; I had no 
fear and thought to cross before the storm broke The of- 
fending rifle is in the Szalrasse. It was my haste to quit 
your dominion that made me venture on the lake. 



22 

Wanda — 

No, for many leagues you would not have been off it 
F. O.— 

** All is well that ends well!" Monsieur is not the 
worse for his bath in the lake, and we have the novelty 
of an incident and of a guest who we will hope in the fu- 
ture will become a friend. 
5.— 

Madam, if I dare hope, I had so much to live for. 

F. a— 

You must have very much to Hve for as it is. Were 
I a man as young as you, and as favored by nature, I 
should be tempted to live for myself. 

And I am most glad to escape from so poor a com- 
panion. 

I have trespassed too long on your patience, madam ; 
I have the honor to wish you good night. 
Wanda — 

If there be a Lorelei in our lake no wonder she tried 
to drown you. Good night, sir ; should you wish to leave 
us in the morning, Hubert w^ll see you reach Sanct Johann 
safely and quickly as can be. 
S.— 

Your goodness overwhelms me ; I can never hope to 
show my gratitnde. 
Wanda — 

There is nothing to be grateful for. Good night, sir., 
may you have a good rest and a fair journey. It is actu- 
ally twelve. (Exit S.) 
F. O.— 

Acknowledge at least he has made the evening pass 
well. 
Wanda — 

He has made it pass admirably ; at the same time 
dear aunt I think it would have been perhaps better if you 
had not made a friend of a stranger. 
F, O. 

Why? 
Wanda — 

Because I think we can fulfill all the duties of hospi- 
tality without doing so, and we know nothing of the 
stranger — 



23 

P, O. 

He is certainly a gentleman it seems to me, my 

dear Wanda, that you are for once in your life — pardon 

me-- ill natured. 

Wanda 

I cannot imagine myself ill-natured, but I may be so ; 
one never knows one's self. 
P, O. 

And ungrateful, when I should like to know have you 
for years reached twelve o'clock at night without being 
concious of it. 
IVanda 

Oh, he read superbly. But let him go on his way to- 
morrow ; you and I cannot entertain strangle men, even 
they put so much soul in Goethe. 
P. O.— 

If Egon were here. 
Wanda — 

Oh, poor Egon! I think he would not like your 
friend at all. They both want to shoot eagles. 
P. O.— 

Perhaps he would not like him for another reason ; 
Egon could never read Goethe. 
Wanda 

No ! but — who knows ! perhaps he can take better 
care of his own soul, because he cannot lend one to poetry. 
P. (9.— 

You are perverse, Wanda. 
Wanda — 

Perverse, inhospitable and ill-natured. T fear I shall 
have a heavy burden of sins to carry to Father Ferdinand 
in the morning. 
P. O.— 

I wish you would not send horses to St. Johann in 
the morning. 



ACT III. 

Scene 1st. 
Wanda — 

Why do you avoid me ? My men sought you in all 
directions. I wish to thank you. 



24 

Sabran— 

I ventured to be near at hand to be of use to you. I 
was afraid the exposure, the damp, and all this pestilence 
would make you ill. 
Wanda — 

No; I am quite well. I have heard of all your cour- 
age and endurance. Idrac owes you a great debt. 
S.— 

I only pay my debt to Hohenszalras. 
Wanda — 

How did you know of the innundation ? It was un- 
kind of you not to come to me. 
S.— 

You are too good; thousands of men much better 
than I suffered much more. 
Wanda — 

You have much to tell me, and I much to hear; you 
should have come to the monastery to be cured of your 
wounds; why are you so mistrustful of our friendship. 
Indeed, we can honor brave men in the Tauern and in 
Idrac, too. You are very brave ; I do not know how to 
thank you for myself or mv people. 
S.— 

Pray do not speak so; to see you again would be 
recompense, for much worthier things than any I have 
done. 
Wanda — 

But yo I might have seen me long ago, had you 
chosen to come to the Isle. I asked you twice. 
S. 

Do not tempt me. If I yielded, and if you despised 

me 

Wanda — 

How could I despise one who so nobly saved the 
lives of my people ? 
S.— 

You would do so. One evening, when we spoke to- 
gether on the terrace, you leaned your hand upon the ivy 
there. I plucked the leaf you touched ; you did not see 
me. I had the leaf with me all through the war ; it was 
a talisman; it was like a holy thing. When your cousin 
soldiers stripped me in their ambulance, they took it from 
me. 



25 

Wanda — 

I have much to thank you for. {Aside— Mitr all, if 
we love each other, what is it to any one else ; we are 
both free). My friend, did never you think that out ? I 
also They robbed you of your ivy leaf, my cruel Prus- 
sian cousins. Will you -tike— this— instead. 
S.— 

Oh, my beloved ! is this heaven itself opened to my 
eyes ? 
P. O.— 

My dear, is it indeed so? you were very wise to listen 
to your heart. 
Wanda — 

Perhaps after all it is the wisest to be unwise. 
P. O.— 

God speaks it ; I shall be content to know that when 
our Father calls me, I will not leave you alone ; it is well 
to have human love close to us. 
Wanda — 

It is to lean on a reed, perhaps, and when the reed 
breaks, though it has been so weak before it becomes of 
iron, barbed and poisoned. 
P. O.— 

What gloomy thoughts ! and you have made me so 
happy. Surely you are happy yourself ? 
Wanda — 

Yes; my reed is in full flower, but but ^yes, I 

am happy ; I hope that Bela knows. 
P. O.— 

Ah ! he loves you so well. 
Wanda — 

That I am sure of, yet I might never have known it 
but for you. 
P, O.— 

I did it for the best ; I have been his frend always ; 
You cannot say so much Wanda, you were very harsh. 
Wanda — 

Yes, I know; I will atone to him. 

P. a— 

And she will make her atonement generously ! grand- 
ly ! She may have to bear pains, griefs, infidelities, calam- 
ities ; she would otherwise have escaped, bul even so, how 
much bettter the summer day even with the summer storm 



26 

than the dull, grey, quiet windless weather. 
Kalnitz — 

This is no marriage for her. 
P. O.— 

Why not ; it is a very old family. 
K.— 

But quite decayed; long ruined. This man himself 
was born in exile. 
P, O.— 

As they exile everybody twice in every ten years in 

France 

K.— 



And there have been stories , 
P. 0.— 

Of whom are there no stories ? Calumny is the par- 
asite of character ; the stronger the character, the closer 
to it clings the strangler. 
^.— 

I never heard him accused of any strength, except of 
the wrist in fencing. 
P. 0.~ 

Do you know anything dishonorable of him ; if you 
do you are bound to say it ? 
K.— 

Dishonorable is a grave word. No, I cannot say that 
I do; the society he frequents is a guarantee against that, 
but his life has been indifferent, complicated, uncertain; 
not a life to be allied with that of such a woman as 
Wanda. My dear Princess, it has been a life Dans le 
Milieu Pansien ; what more would you have me say ? 

p, a— 

Prince Archambaud's has been that ; yet three years 
since you earnestly pressed his suit on Wanda. 
K.— 

Archambaud ? He is one of the first alHances in 
Europe ; he is of royal blood, and he has not been more 
vicious than other men. 
P. O.— 

It would be better had he been less so, since he lives 
so near the fierce light that beats upon the throne-- an 
electric light that blackens while it illumes. My good 
Kaulnitz, you wonder very far afield, if you know any- 



27 



thing serious against M. de Sabran, it is your duty to 

say it. 

K.— 

He is hardly more than an adventurer. 
P. O.— 

He counts his ancestry in unbroken succession, from 
the day of Dagobert. 
K.— 

He has nothing but a league or two of rocks and sand 
in Brittany. Yet, though so poor, he made money enough 
by cards and speculation to be three years the Amant en 
titre of Cochonette. 
P. O.— 

I think we will say no more, my dear baron. The 
matter is not your's or mine to decide ; Wanda will surely 
do as she likes. 

But you have great influence with her. 
P. O.— 

I have none ; no one has any ; and I think you do 
not understand her in the least; It may cost her very 
much to avow to him that she loves him ; but, once hav- 
ing done that, it will cost her nothing at all to avow it to 
the world ; she is much too proud a woman to care for the 
world. 
Lilienhohe — 

He is gentilhomme de race, I grant. 
P. 0.— 

When has a noble of Brittany been otherwise ? 
Z.— 

I know, but you will admit that he occupies a differ- 
ent position— an invidious one. 
P. O.- 

And he carries himself well, tho' it is a different posi- 
tion, which is the test of breeding, and I deny entirely that 
it is what you call an invidious one ; it is you who have the 
idea of the crowd when you lay so much stress on the 
mere absence of money. 
Z.— 

It is the idea of the crowd that dominates in this age. 
P. O.- 

The reason for us to resist it if it be so. 



28 
I think you are in love with him yourself, sister mine. 

P. a— 

I should be were I forty years younger. 
Wanda — 

Since I am convmced of the honesty and purity of his 
motives, what matters the opinion of others. 

P. a— 

How can he tell that the world may not some day 
induce you to doubt these motives. 
Wanda — 

But he will cease to think of any disparity when all 
that is mine has been his a year or two. All the people 
shall look upon him as their lord, since he will be mine, 
even if I think differently from him on any matter. I will 
not say it, lest I should remind him that the power lies 
with me ; he shall be no prince consort, he shall be king. 
I shall abandon to him Idrac; he will be grand Sejneur of 
Idrac, and I shall be glad for him to bear an Austrian 
name. 
P. O.— 

My dear, be cautious, your horses even though 
you know them, may show you the dangers of too loose 
rein. 
Wanda — 

I want no rein at all ; you forget to my thmking, mar- 
riage should never be a bondage. If one must yield it 
must be the woman. 
P. O,— 

These are very fine theories. 
Wanda — 

I hope to put them in practice. To what I love best 
on earth shall I dole out a niggard longesae from my 
wealth. If I were capable of doing so, he would in time 
grow to hate me, and his hatred would be justified. 

P. a— 

I never would have supposed you would become so 
romantic. 
Prince L. — 

It will make him independent of you. 
Wanda — 

That IS what beyond all I desire him to be. 



29 

Cardinal V. — Aside. 

(It is ah infatuation, when Prince Egon, her cousin, 
would have brought to her a fortune as large as her own. 

P. a— 

You think water should always run to the sea ; surely 
there is a great wjste sometimes. 

C. v.— 

I *^hink you are as infatuated as she ; you forget had 
she not been inspired with this unhappy sentiment she 
would most probably left Hohenszalras to the church. 

P. a— 

She would have done nothing of the kind. Your em- 
inence mistakes Hohenszalras and everything else ; had'she 
died unmarried would have gone to the Hapsburgs. 

c v.— 

That would have been better than to an adven- 
turer 

P. a— 

How can you call a Breton Noble an adventurer ? it 
is one of the purest arristocracies of the world if poor. 

C. v.— ' 

It is not the first time the church has been worsted by 
a woman. 
Wanda — Asid'\ 

(So will he be always his own master. What pleasure 
•that your kawk stays by you, if you chain him to your 
wrist ? if he loves you he will sail back uncalled from the 
longest flight. I think mine always will ; if not— if not- 
well, he must go.) My darUng, I want you to promise me 

one thing 

S.— 

I promise you all things ; what is this one ? 
Wanda — 

It is this : You are troubled at the thought that I have 
one of those great fortunes which form the acte d' accusation 
of socialists against society, and that you have lost all but 
the rocks and salt beach of Romanis Now, I want } ou 
to promise me never to think of this fact; it is beneath 
you ! Fortune is so precarious a thing, so easily destroyed 
by war or revolution, that it is not worth contemplation as 
a serious barrier between human beings. A treachery, a 
sin, even a lie— any one of these may be a wall of adamant, 
but a mere fortune ! promise me you will never think of 



30 

mine, except inasmuch, my beloved, as it may inhance 
my happiness by ministering to yours; look, I had the law- 
yers bring this over for you to see. It is the deed by 
which Steven, first Christian King of Hungary, confirmed 
to the Counts of Idrac in the year 1001 all their fudal 
rights. 
Sabran — 

What have I to do with Idrac ? 
Wanda — 

My love can do just as I want with Idrac ; you must 
take it all — the town and the title, and all they bring; it 
will become you so well, the Count von Idrac. Rise, 
Count von Idrac ! 
S.— 

On this rose I swear my fealty now and forever. 
Aside. (Would to heaven I had had no other wants than 
this one you gave me ; would that I could forget that ever 
I lived before — forget that all my life I am unworthy of 
you). My love, let me live only from the day that will 

make me your vassal and your 

Wanda — 

That will make you my lord. (Kisses him.) 

My love, you seem to have forgotten Romanis ; I am 
glad you love the Tauern so, but let us go and see Ro- 
manis. 
^.— 

Romanis ! I hate its name — I was very wretched 
there. I tried to take interest in it because you bade me, 
but 1 failed ; all I saw, all I thought of, was yourself, and 
I believed you as far and forever removed from me 
as though you dwelt in some other planet. No, perhaps 
I am superstitious ; I do not wish you to go to Romanis, I 
believe it would bring us misfortune : the sea is full of 
treachery, the sands are full of graves. 
Wanda — 

Superstition is a sort of parody of faith; I am 
sure you are not superstitious ? I do not care to go to Ro- 
manis; I like to cheat myself into the belief you were born 
and bred here. Otto said to me the other day, ''My 
lord must be a son of the soil or how could he know our 
mountains so well as he does, and how could he anywhere 
have learned to shoot like that." 



31 

S.— 

I am glad Otto does me so much honor ; when he first 
met me he would have shot me like a fox if you had given 
him the word. Ah, my love, how often I think of you that 
day ; you were truly a chatelain of the old mystical German 
days. You had some mountain flowers in your hand ; they 
were the key flower to my soul, though, alas! I fear you 
found no treasures on your entrance there. 
Wanda — 

I will not answer you, since it would be flattery to 
you. By the way, when shall we invite to meet the Grand 
Duke Lilienhohe ; will you make out a list ? 
S.— 

The Grand Duke does not share Princess Ottilie's 
goodness for me. 
Wanda — 

What would you ! he has been made of buckram and 
parchment ! besides which anything that is not German has 
—to his mind— no right to exist. By the way, Egon wrote 
to me this morning he will be here at last. 
S. . 

Your cousin Egon ! Here ? 
Wanda — 

Why are you so surprised ? I was sure that sooner or 
later he would conquer that feeling of being unable to 
meet you. I begged him to come now ; it is eight whole 
years since I have seen him ; when once you have met him 

you will be friends for my sake. 

^.— 

Why, do you suppose it would be any easier for him 
now than then ? Men who love you do not change; the 
meeting can but be painful to Prince Vasarhely. 
Wanda — 

Dearest, my nearest male relative and I cannot go on 
forever without seeing each other. Even these years have 
done Egon a great deal of harm. He has been absent 
from court for fear of meeting us, and confined himself 
to his estates until he has grown morose and solitary. I 
do not wish to have the remorse upon me of having caused 
the ruin of his gallant and brilliant life. When he is once 
here he will like you ; brave men, have always a certain 
sympathy. When he has seen you here he will realize that 



32 

destiny is unchangable and grow reconciled to the knowl- 
edge that I am your wife. 
S. — j^lonc. 

(The thought of that man troubles and alarms me ; I 
dre^d my first meeting with that maygar prince prince, 
and as years have dropped by one after another, and he 
has fail.'d to find courage to see us. I hid hoped we would 
forever remain strangers, but he will now be our 
guest ; and we have been so happy, and now on our 
cloudless heaven there seems to rise a cloud no larger than 
a man's hand, but bearing with it disaster and a moonless 
night. Perhaps he might have forgotten we were so 
young then ; he was not even as old as I. God save her 
from suffering by me. 

Scene 2d. 
Wanda — 

Come dear, Egon has arrived; come and welcome 
him. 
S.— 

Receive your cousin first alone. He must resent my 
presence here; I will not force it on him, on the thresh- 
old of your house. 
Wanda — 

Of our house ; why do you use the wrong pronoun ? 
Believe me, dear, Egon is too generous to bear you the 
animosity you think. 
S.— 

Then he never loved you. Well, I will come if you 
wish it, but I think it is not in the best taste to so assert 
myself. 
Wanda — 

Egon is only my cousin and your guest. You are the 
master of Hohenszalras. Come, it was not so difficult 
when you received the Emperor. 
S,— 

I had done the Emperor no wrong. 
Wanda — 

You have done Egon none ; I should not have been 
his wife had I never been your's. 
^.— 

Who knows ? {Advances to meet Egon). My wife 
has bidden me welcome you Prince Vasarheley, but it 



33 

would be presumption in me, a stranger, to do that. All 
her kindred must be dear and sacred here. 
Vasarhely — 

I am pleased to know yon hold with such esteem our 
relationship. The Thauern is indeed very dear to me, 

Wanda ; I am pleased to see you well and happy. 

Wanda — 

Egon, this is my Bela; you will love him for my sake. 

v.— 

May the spirit of your lost Bela be with him and 
dwell in his heart; better I cannot wish him. {To Sabran 
—Your son is a noble child ; you may have reason to be 
proud of him ; he is very like you in feature ; I see no 
trace of the Szatras.) 
S,— 

The other boy is more like Wanda. As for my 
daughter, she is too young for any one to say whom she 
will resemble. All I desire is that she should be like her 
mother, physically and spiritually. 

r.— 

True— and what do you like best to do, my little one ? 
Bela— 

To ride. 

v.— 

There you are a true Szalras, at least. And your 
brother Gela, can he ride yet ? Where is Gela, by the 
way ? 
B.— 

He is asleep-- -he's a little thing. Yes, he rides, but 
it is a chair saddle, it is not real riding. 
P.— 

I see ! Well, when you come and see me, you shall 
have some real riding on wild horses. On the great 
steppes of Tartary there are great herds of young wild 
horses, and some day we will have a great ride. 
B.— 

Bela will come to Hungary ; I think I have great 
lands there ; Otto said so. 
S. 

Bela has nothing at all. He talks nonesense some- 
times, and he had better go sleep with his brother. 
V. 

I suppose Gela will take your title ? 



34 

S. 

They are babies ; it will be time enough when they 
are court pages or cadets to settle these matter. They are 
Gela and Bela at present. The only real republic is child- 
hood. 
Wanda 

I am afraid Bela is the Tyrannus to which all repub- 
lics secumb. He is extensively autocratic in his notions, 
in all his make-believe games he is crowned. 
V. 

He is a beautiful child. 
Wanda 

Oh, yes ! he is so Hke Rene. 
V. Aside. 

(Where have I seen those blue eyes, those level 
brows, those delicate curved lips ? They are so familiar, 
yet so strange to me. When I would name them they seem 
to recede back in the shadows of some far away past> so far 
I cannot recall them.) 

Scene 3d. 
Baron K. 

What do you think of Sabran ? 
V. 

He is a perfect gentleman, a charming companion, 
and plays admirably at E carte. 
B. K. 

E'carte^ I spoke of his moral worth ; what is your im- 
pression of that ? 
V. 

If he had not satisfied her as to that, Wanda would 
not be his wife. He has given her beautiful children, and 
it seems to me he renders her perfectly happy ; we should 
all be grateful to him. 
B. K. 

The children are certainly very beautiful. 
V. 

The people all around are deeply attached to him, 
and the attachment is genuine. The men of the old arch- 
duchy are not easily won ; it is only qualities of daring 
and manliness that appeal to their sympathies. 

v.— 

I conclude you knew the Marquis de Sabran well in 
France. 



35 

K.— 

No, I cannot say that I did ; I knew him by repute ; 
that was not very pure. However, the Fauburg always 
received and entertained him ; the Count de Chambord did 
the same — they were the most interested. One cannot 
presume to think they could be deceived. 

v.— 

Deceived ! that is a singular word to use. Do you 
mean to imply the possibility of any falsity on his part — 
any intrigue to appear what he is not? 
K 

No ! honestly I cannot say so much. An impression 
was given me at the moment of his signing his marriage 
contract that he concealed something, but it was a mere 
suspicion. All his papers were of unimpeachable regular- 
ity. There were never a doubt hinted by anyone, and 
yet I will confess to you, my dear Egon, since we are 
speaking in confidence, that I have always had my own 
doubts as to his Marquisate of Sabran. 

v.— 

Great God ! why do you not stop the marriage ? 
B, K.— 

One does not slop a marriage by a mere baseless sus- 
picion ; I have not one shadow of reason for my conjecture ; 
It merely came into my head at the signing of the con- 
tract. I had done all I could to oppose the marriage, but 
Wanda was inflexible, besides few men are more attractive 
than Sabran, and as he is one of us, whatever else he be 
his honor is now our honor. 

v.— 

One could always kill him and set here free if one 
were sure. 
K.— 

You maygar gentlemen always think that every knot 
can be cut by the sword. If he were a mere adventurer, 
which is hardly the possible, it would not mend matters by 
running him through the heart; there are his children. 
F.— 

Would the marriage be legal if his name were assumed ? 

Oh, no ; she could have it annulled of course, both by 
church and law ; all those pretty chidlren would have no 
rights or no name. But we are talking in a very wild and 



36 

theatrical fashion. He is as certainly Marquis de Sabran 

as I am Karl von Kautnitz. 

O.— 

It is really the knights love for his lady. 

Yes ; and I think, countess, that if there were more 
like my lady on earth, knighthood might revive on other 
scenes than Wagner^s. (To Wanda.) — She is a cruel and 
perilous woman. 
Wanda — 

No, love, she has always seemed to me a mere fash- 
ionable and frivolous woman, like so many others of her 
world. 
S. 

No, you are wrong. She is not a butterfly; she has 
too much energy ; she is a profoundly immoral woman 
also. Look at her eyes. 
Wanda — 

That is Stefans affair not ours. He is indifferent. 
S.— 

Or unsuspicious. Did your brother care for her ? 
Wanda — 

He was madly in love with her. She was only sixteen 
when he married her. He fell at Soleferino half a year 
later. Then she married my cousin Stefan. It both 
shocked and disgusted me. Perhaps I was foolish to take 
it thus, but it seemed such a sin against Gela. To die so 
and not to be even remembered. 

Did your cousin approve this second marriage ? 
Wanda — 

No; he opposed it. He had our feehng about \K 
But Stefan was young and beyound control. He had the 
fortune and the title of his mother, the Countess Brancka, 
and Olga bewitched him as she had done my brother. 
S.— 

She is a witch, a wicked witch. 
O. — Aside. 

(Can't I make these two men enemies ; a duel or an 
affair of some sort to amuse me.) M. Sabran, do you know 
when Egon is to leave ? By the way, you cannot expect 
him to love you any too well. You know he was the be- 
trothed of Wanda from her childhood. 



37 

S.~ 

I was quite aware of that before my marriage, but 
those family arrangements are tranquil disposals of destiny, 
which if disturbed leave no great trace of trouble. The 
prince is still young, and has no lack of consolation, if he 
needs it, and I cannot believe that he does. 
O. ^.— 

You know as well as I that Egon adores the very stir- 
rup your wife's foot touches. 
^.— 

I know he is her much beloved cousin. 
O. B.— 

So you are proof. Well I hope you will prove worthy 
of my capture. Now for the other. Dear Egon, why did 
you not stay on the steppes or remain with your Hussars. 
You make Sabran jealous. 

v.— 

Jealous ! He has much cause when she has neither 
eye nor ear, neither memory or thought of any kind for 
any living thing except himself and those children who are 
his portraits. Why do you say these follies, Olga ? You 
know Wanda chose from all the world, and loves him as 
no one would suppose she could love mortal. 
O. B.— 

What do you think of him ? 

v.— 

Every one asks me that question. I am not his keeper. 
O. B. 

But you must form some opinion. He is virtually 
Lord of Hohenzalras, and I beHeve she has made over to 
him all of Idrac, and his children will have everything. 

v.— 

Are thev not her natural heirs ? Who should inherit 
from her if not her sons ? 
O. B.— 

Of course. Bnt they will inherit nothing from him. It 
was certainly a great stroke of fortune for a landless gen- 
tleman like him. Why is it a certain class of poor gentle- 
men always captivate noble women ? 

v.— 

What do you mean to insinuate, Ogla Brancka ? 



38 

O. B.— 

Oh nothing, only his history is peculiar. I re- 
member his arrival in France ; his first appearonce in soci- 
ety. It is many years ago now. All the Fauberg received 
him, but some said at the time it was too romantic to be 
true. Those Mexican forests, that long exile of the Sa- 
bran, the sudden appearance of this beautiful young mar- 
quis ; you will grant it was romantic. I suppose it was the 
romance that made even Wanda's dear head turn a little. 
And then such a life in Paris after it — duels, baccarra 
sudden fortunes, clever comedies, a touch like Liszts, a 
sudden success in the Chamber, it was all so romantic. It 
was bound to bring him at last to his haven. The Prince 
Charmant of an enchanted castle, only enchanted castles 
sometimes grovT dull, and Prince Charmants are not always 
answerable by tne same Chatelaine. 
V,— 

Look here, Olga, I am not sure what you mean, but 
I believe you are tired of seeing my cousins happiness, 
merely because it is something with which you cannot in- 
terfere. For myself, I would protect her happiness as I 
would her honor if I thought either endangered. Whether 
you or I like the Marquis de Sabran is beyond the ques- 
tion. She loves him, and she has made him one of us. 
His honor is now ours. For myself, I would defend him 
in his absence as though he were my own brother. Not 
for his sake at all, but for hers. I do not express myself 
very well, but you know what I mean. Here is Max re- 
turning to claim you ; now beware how you act. 

Scene 4th. 

Nurse — 

Ah, my lord, the little Count is like the Marquis, and 
so is Herr Gela. You remember, my lord, the noble gen- 
tlemen whose names they bear ? God send they may be 
like them in their lives and not in their deaths. 

v.— 

An early death is good. 
Nurse — 

Count Bala is not like our saint who died. He is al- 
was masterful and loves his own way. My lady is strict 
with him, and wisely so; for he is a proud and rebelious 



39 

child. But he is very generous and has noble ways. 
Count Gehi is a little angel; he will be like the dead ones. 
V.~ 

My God ! He is like Vassia Kazan. That is, ihe 
face. That has forever evaded my remembrance. Here, 
woman ! 

Nurse — 

Poor, gallant gentleman. He wishes these pretty 
boys were his. Well, it might have been better had he 
been master here, though there is nothing against the one 
who is so. Still a stranger is always a stranger, and foreign 
blood is bad. 
V. 

Sabran, one moment. Twenty years ago I, a little 
lad, accompanied my father on a summer visit to the house 
of a Russian prince, Paul Zabaroff. It was a house gay, 
magnificent, full of idle men and women of facile charms. 
Not a house for youth ; but both my father and Prmce Za- 
baroff were men of easy morals. At that house was pres- 
ent a youth some years older than I ; his name was Vassia 
Kazan; he had wit and beauty, skill in games and daring 
in sport. It was understood, without ever being openly 
said, that he was a natural son of Prince Zabaroff I had 
knowledge enough of hfe to know he was base born, and 
my natural pity I could but curb with contempt ; yet my 
natural intelligence was no match for his subtle and cul- 
tured brain. One day one of the lovely ladies there 
amused herself with a war of words between us. He so 
exasperated me with his sityrs I flung this taunt in his 
face, "Were you in Russia you would be a serf." Without 
a word he sprang upon me, and with a grasp of steel 
thrashed me with his whip. That from one who, to me, 
was a slave and a hound, was more than I could bear. I 
snatched from the table near a dagger and plunged it in 
his shoulder. Am I mad or is it true ? Let me see your 
shoulder. Have you the mark of the wound I gave you ? 
Your little child has the face of Vassia Kazan. Are you 
Vassia Kazan ? Are you the bastard of Paul Zabaroff? 
Are you the wolf the steppes ? He has swooned you see. 
I commit him to your hands. I am not needed. / 



40 

Scene 5th. 

K — 

Who is there ? Is there anything wrong ? 
S.— 

It is I ; open. You know who I am. 
K— 

Yes. 
S.— 

How did you know it ? 

v.— 

I remembered. 
S.— 

Will you tell her ? 

v.— 

I will never tell her. 
S.— 

You will not ? But you loved her ? 

v.— 

If I loved her, what is that to you ? It is perhaps be- 
cause I loved her that your foul secret is safe with me now. 
I shall not tell her. I waited to say this to you. I could 
not write it lest it should meet her eyes. You came to ask 
me this ? Be satisfied and go. 
S.— 

I came to ask you this because had you said other- 
wise I would have shot myself ere she would have heard. 
V. — Aside. 

Suicide, the Sclav's courage and serfs refuge. 
S,— 

I do not thank you. I understand you. Spare me 
for her sake, not mine. 
K- 

Go ; you have got my word. Though we lived fifty 
years you are safe from me, because, God forgive you, you 
are hers. 
O. B.- 

What meant diat midnight visit ? And who is Vassia 
Kazan ? That I mast know. It is some secret between 
them. The name is Russian. I shall write to my cousin, 
who is a member of the third section at St. Petersburg ; they 
who know everything, the past, present and future of ev- 
erybody. 



41 

O, B.— 

How very handsome they are ; they are just like Sa- 
bran. And yet they are not at all a Russian type. 

Why should they be Russian ? We have no Russian 
blood. 

Scene 6th. 

O. ^.— 

I do not know what I was thinking of. Sabran al- 
ways reminds me of my old friend Paul Zabaroff. They 
are very alike. 
W.— 

I have seen the present Prince Zabaroff. He is not 
as I remember him, much like M. de Sabran. 
O. B.— 

Oh, of course he is not equal to your Apollo. Do 
you and Rene absolutely never quarrel ? 
W.— 

Quarrel! My dear Olga, how very bourgeois you 
speak. 
O. B. 

Do you suppose only the bourgeois quarrel ! Really 
you live in your enchanted forest until you forget what the 
world is like. It is a cruel thing there is not one divorce 
law for all the world. If Stefan and I could only set each 
other free, we should have done it years and years ago. 
W, 

I did not know your griefs against Stefan was so great. 

a— 

Oh ! I have no great griefs against him, but we are 
both bankrupt, and we don't know why, but we both de- 
test each other. 

Madam Brancka, you affected not to understand a 
message I sent you by Greswold. You will not misunder- 
stand me now when I repeat that you must leave the house 
of my wife before another night. 

a— 

Ah ! I am to leave the house of your wife, my cous- 
in, who was once my sister-in-law ? And will you tell me 
why? 



42 

5.— 

You have a short memory, I believe, Countess; at 
least your lovers have said so in Paris. But I trust you 
can spare me the coarseness and brutality of further ex- 
planation. 

a— 

Ah ! How scrupulous you are about trifles. Why 
not about great things? What does the holy writ tell us? 
One strains at a gnat and swallows a camel. I once heard 
a professor say that the translation was not correct, but 

S.— 

Pardon me, madam ; but I can have no trifling. 

a— 

Ah ! And if I do not choose to comply with your de- 
sire, how do you intend to enforce it ? 
S. 

That is my affair. 
O.— 

You will make a scene with my husband that will be 
useless and theatrical. Sefan is one of those men who are 
always swearing at their wives in private, but in public 
never admit otherwise than they are otherwise than saints. 
S.— 

Pardon me, I have no time to listen to your experi- 
ences. The Couetess Szalras is aware I came to see you, 
and I tell you frankly I will not stay more than ten min- 
utes in your rooms. 

a— 

You have told her? 
S.— 

I would have told her all, how you have tried to be- 
tray her confidence, but she stopped me with my words 
unspoken. What think you she said — said of you, the 
vilest enemy — the only enemy she has ! — that if you had 
graver faults than she knew, she wished not to hear them ; 
you were her relative, and once had been her brother's 
wife. 

a— 

Poor Wanda ! She was always so heroic. 
S.— 

Madam Brancka, this conversation if of no use; you 
must leave Hohenszalras in the next few hours. 



43 

a— 

Wait a moment ; are you judicious in making me an 
enemy ? 
S.— 

I much prefer you as an enemy. As a friend you are 
perilous. I have thehonor to wish you farewell. 

Tell me one thing before you go. Does Wanda know 
that you are Vassia Kazan? You have not answered my 
question. Does Wanda know it? Does such a saintly 
woman compound a felony? I believe a false name is a 
sort of felony, is it not ? It was an ingenious device, but 
it was scarcely wise. Things are always found out some- 
time or another ; at least, m n's secrets are. A woman 
can keep hers. It is very strange that Wanda, of all peo- 
ple, should have made such a misalliance and had such an 
imposture passed off on her. I belong to her family ; I 
ought to abhor you, and yet I can imagine your tempta- 
tion if I cannot forgive it. Still it was a foolish thing to do, 
not worthy a man of your wit, and in France I beheve the 
punishment for such an assumption is some years impris- 
ment. And here, perhaps you know your marriage would 
be null and void if she chose. 
S— 

Hold your peace ! Speak truth if you can. What has 
Vasarhely told you ? 
O— 

All! 
S~ 

And he gave me his word. 
O— 

His word to you when he is in love with your wife ? 
The miracle is that he has not told her. She would divorce 
you, and after a decent interval I dare say she would mar- 
ry him, if only for revenge. For a man so devoted to her 
as you are, you have certainly contrived to outrage and 
injure her in the most complete manner. My dear Mar- 
quis, to think how fooled we were all the time by you. 
You so haughty, so fastidious, so patrician. But why are 
you so dejected ? You know — you know — I was willing 
ever to be your friend. I am not less willing now. When 
we last met you offended, you outraged me. Only few 
moments ago you insulted me as though I were the lowest 



44 

creature on the Paris Asphalte. Yet all this I — I — should 
be tempted to forgive if you love me as I believe that you 
do. I love you, not as that cold, calm, unerring woman 
yonder may, but as those only can who know and care for 
no heaven but earth. Rene — Vassia — who knowing your 
sin, your shame, your birth, your treachery, would say to 
you what I say. Not Wanda. Listen, I love you, I love 
you. I care nothing what you were borne, what sins you 
have sinned, I love you. Love me and she shall never 
know. I will silence Egon, I will bury your secret as 
though it were one that would cost me my life if it were 
known. 
S.— 

You are even viler than I thought. How long would 
you spare me if I sinned against her with you. Go, do 
your worst, say your worst. But if you stay beneath my 
wife's roof, to-night I will drive you out of the house be- 
fore all her people, if it be the last act of my authority in 
Hohnszalras. 

a— 

I love you. 

How dare you speak of love to me ? You force me 
to use the language of the gutter. If Egon Vasarhely has 
pui me in your power, use it like the incarnate fiend you 
are. I ask no mercy of you, but if you dare to speak of 
love to me I will strangle you where you stand. Since you 
call me the wolf of the steppes, you shall feel my fangs. 

a— 

(Reads.) * 'Loved Wanda, will you be so good as to 
come to me for a moment at once ?" Take this to my 
cousin, the countess, yourself and report to me. He will 
kill himself if he does not strangle me, and so will escape. 
Pshaw, we are people of the world ; society is with us even 
in our solitude. These violent crimes are not ours. We 
strike otherwise than with our hands. 
Page— 

My lord, a message. 
S.— 

(Reads.) ''Olga asks me to come to her. Do you 
wish me to do so ?" Oh most faithful of all friends. Where 
is the countess ? 



45 

Page— 

In the library, my lord. 
S.— 

Say that I will be with her there in a few moments. 
You dared to send for her, then ? 

a— 

Dared ? Is that a word to be used by a Russian Mou- 
jik as you are to me, the daughter of Fedor Demetrivitch 
Serriatine ? Certainly I sent for wife, my cousin, who 
should know what I know if not she. Egon might make 
you what promises he would. He is a man and a fool! I 
make none. You may prevent me seeing Wanda. I shall 
write to her. If you stop her letters I shall telegraph to 
to her. If that f^uls, then I will put your story in the Paris 
journals, where the Marquis de Sabran is as well known 
as the Arc de I'Etoile. You were born a serf; you shall 
feel the knout. It would have been well for you if you had 
smarted under it in your youth. 
S.— 

Spare your threats ; no one will tell her but myself. 
You know her present condition; it will most likely kill 
her. 

a— 

Oh no, her nerves are of iron ; she will divorce you, 
that is all. 
S,— 

She will be in her right. 
O.— 

For a bastard he crows well. 
S.— 

Talk of the cruelty of men, what beast that lives has 
the slow unsparing brutality of a jealous woman ? Wanda \ 
Wanda ! 

Scene 7th. 

Wanda — 

My God ! what is it ? are the children 

5.— 

No ! no ! ! the children are well ; it is worse than 
death ! Wanda, I have come so tell you the sin of my 
life, the sharne of it. Oh how will you ever believe that 
I loved you since I wronged you so. 



46 

Wanda — 

Tell me! tell me everything! why not have trusted 
me ? Tell me, I am strong. 
S.— 

Wanda, I am Vassia Kazan, the natural son of the 
Prince Paul Ivanovich Zabaroff. Up to nine years old I 
dwelt with my grandmother, a Persian woman on the great 
plain between the Volga water and the Ural range; thence 
I was taken to Lycee Clovis, a famous college. Prince 
Zaberoff I never saw but one day in my Volga village, until 
when I was fifteen years old I was sent to his house, 
Fleur de Roiy near Villede Ville, where I remained two 
mgnths. I then returned to the Lycee, and stayed there 
two years unnoticed by him. One day I was summoned 
by the principal and told abruptly that the Prince Zaberoft 
was dead ; my protector, as they termed him, and that I 
was penniless, with the world before me. I could not 
hope to make you understand tne passions that rnged in 
me, you who have always been in the light of fortune, and 
always at the head of a mighty family could comprehend 
nothing of the somber hatred, the futile revolts, the bitter 
wrath against heaven and humanity, which consumed me 
then. Thus left alone, without even the remembrance of a 
word from my father, I should have returned straightway 
to the Volga plains and buried my feverish griefs under 
their snows, had not I known that grandmother, Maritza, 
the only living being I had ever loved, had died half a 
year after I had been taken from her to be sent to the 
school in Paris. You see, had I been left there, I should 
have been a hunter of wild things, or a raftsman on the 
Volga all my years, and have done no harm. I was a 
true Russian noble, though a bastard one, and those three 
months which I had passed at Finer de Roi, had intoxi- 
cated me with a thirst for pleasure, and enervated me with 
a longing to be rich and idle. When Paul Zaberoff died he 
left me nothing — not even a word. It was true he died 
suddenly. I quitted the Lycei Clavis with my clothes and 
my books ; I had nothing else in the world. I sold some 
of these and got to Havre ; there I took passage on a 
barque going to Mexico with wine. The craft was unsea- 
worthy ; she went down with all hands off the Pinos Islands, 
and I, swimming for miles alone, reached the shore. The 
women were good to me ; I got away in a canoe, and 



47 

rowed many miles and many days ; the sea was calm and 
I had bread, fruit and water, enough to last two weeks. 
At the end of ten days I neared a brig which took me to 
Mexico. My adventurous voyage made me popular there. 
I gave a false name of course, for I hated the name of 
Vassia Kazan. War was going on at that time with Mex- 
ico, and I went and offered my services to the military 
adventurer then in command ; bands of Indians fell on us 
m great numbers; I was shot down and left for dead; a 
stranger found me the morning after, carried me to his hut, 
and saved my life by his skill and cure. The stranger 
was the Marquis Xavier de Sabran, who had dwelt for 
nearly seventy years in the solitude of those vergin forests, 
which nothing ever disturbed except the hiss of an Indian's 
arrow or the roar of the woods on fire. His influence up- 
on me was the noblest I had ever been subject to; he did 
me nothing but good ; his son had died early, having wed- 
ded a Spanish Mexican. Ere he was twenty his grandson 
had died of snake-bite; he had been of my age; at times 
he almost seemed to think this lad lived again in me. I 
spent eight years of my life with him ; I saw no European 
all those years ; the only men I came in contact with were 
Indians and half breeds ; the dense, close-woven forest was 
between us and the rest of the world ; our only highway 
was a river made almost inaccessible by dense fields of 
reeds, and banks of jungle, and swamps covered with high 
lillies. Eight whole years passed ; so I was twenty five 
years old when my protector and friend died of sheer old 
age, in one burning summer, against whose burning heat 
he had no strength ; he talked long and tenderly to me 
e'er he died ; told me where to find all his papers, and gave 
me everything he owned; it was not much. He made me 
one last request, that I would collect his manuscripts, com- 
plete them and publish them in France. For some weeks 
after his death I could think of nothing but his loss. I bu- 
ried him myself with the aid of an Indian who had loved 
him, and his grave is there besides the ruins he so revered, 
beneath a grove of cypress; I carved a cross in cedar wood 
and raised it above the grave ; I found all his papers where 
he had indicated, underneath one of the temple porticoes ; 
his manuscripts I already had in my possession ; these bu- 
ried papers were all those which had been brought with 
him from France by his Jesuit tutors, and the certificates 



48 



of his own and his father's birih and marriage, and those 
of his son and of his grandson who had died at eighteen 
years of age. There was also a paper containing direc- 
tions how to find other documents with the orders and 
patents of nobiHty of the Sabrans of Rom iris, which had 
been hidden in the oak wood upon their sea shore in Mor- 
bihan ; all these he had desired me to seek and take. Now 
came upon me the temptation to a great sin. The age of 
his grandson, the young Rene de Sabran, had been mine. 
It seemed to me that if I assumed his name I should do 
no one any wrong ; to be brief, I was sorely tempted, and 
I gave way to the temptation. I had no difficulty in claim- 
ing recognition in the City of Mexico as the Miirquis de 
Sabran ; I was recognized by all the propjr authorities, 
and returned to France as the Marquis de Sabran. On 
my voyage I made the acquaintance with ten Frenchmen 
of very high station who proved true friend^ to me, and 
had power enough to protect me from the consequences of 
not having served a military term in France. I saw by 
French journals that Vassi i Kazan had been numbered 
among the crew who had gone down with the PinOs. On 
my arrival I first went so Romaris ; there I found the pa- 
pers that were hidden in the o.ikwood above the sea. The 
priest and peasants welcomed me with rapture. The Britons 
never torget; I had no fear of recognition; I had changed 
so much in my nine years absence that no one could re- 
cognize the collegian Vassia Kazin in the Marquis de Sa- 
bran. I will not linger on the causes that made me take 
the name I did; I never did anything that degraded it, as 
men of the world read degradation ; perhaps I should not 
have satisfied severe moralists, but my one crime apart I 
was a man of honor until I loved you. I do not attempt 
to defend my marriage with you; it was a crime, a fraud. 
I was born a serf in Russia. Now there are no more serfs 
there ; but Alexander who affranchised them cannot affran- 
chise me. I am base born ; I cannot ask your forgiveness. 
Would that God would strike me dead at^your feet. 

Wanda — 

You ! — you ! You Vassia Kazan ! 



49 

Scene 8th. 

v.— 

Does she live ? 
G.— 

That is all. 

v.— 

Can I see her? 
G.— 

It would be useless ; she would not know your Ex- 
cellency. 
6'.— 

Allow me the honor of a word wiih you, Prince : Did 
you give up my secret to your brother's wife ? 

v.— 

Can you ask that? you had my promise. 
S.— 

M idam Brancka knows all that you know; she said 
you had betrayed me to her. She would have told Wanda, 
I chose sooner to tell her myself; the* shock has killed the 
child, it may kill her! Your sister-in-law ^s here ; if she 
has used your name falsely, it is for you to avenge it. 

v.— 

Tell me what passed between you ! 
S.— 

Madam Brancka has always been envious of your 
cousin ; when she got possession of the story of my past, 
she used it without mercy. She w^ould have told my wife 
with brutality; I told her myself, hoping to spare her 
something by my own confession. Madam Brancka af- 
firmed to me twice or thrice over that you had given her 
all the information against me. 

v.— 

How could you believe her? you had my promise. 
S.— 

How could I doubt her. 

v.— 

You might sooner have doubted anything than that I 
should have intrusted Countess Brancka with such a secret. 
How can she have learned your history. Have you be- 
trayed yourself. 



50 

^•— 

Never since you did not tell her, I cannot conceive 

how or where she learned it; not a soul lives that knows 
me as— (Exit Sabran). 

v.— 

My brother is unfortunate he has wedded a vile wom- 
an; leave her to me. ^Enter Olga). 

K 

I hear you have been useing my name falsely to the 
husband of Wanda;— That you have dared to give me as 
authority for accusations against him. What is your ex- 
cuse ? What is your excuse-I ask again; Why did you come 
into this house to injure Wanda Von Szalras? How did 
you dare to use my name to do her that injury ? 

I wish to do her a service ! Since she has married an 
adventurer — an imposter — she ought to know it and be 
free. 

v.— 

What authority have you for calling the Mnrquis de 
Sabran an adventurer; to him you employed my name as 
your authority. What truth was beneath that lie. 

a— 

You know that he is Vassia Kazan. 

v.— 

Who is Vassia Kazan. 
0.— 

He is — the man who robbed you of Wanda. 

v.— 

He could not rob me of what I never possessed; what 
grounds have you for calling him by that name. 

a— 

I have reasons to believe it. 

v.— 

Reasons to believe it; you told him you heard this 
this story from myself. 

a— 

He never denied it. 
V,— 

I am not concerned to discuss what he did or did not 
do; I came here to know on what grounds you employed 
my name. 



51 

a— 

Egon; I will tell you the truth. 
V.~ 

Can you ? 
O.— 

Yes I can and will. I once heard you call him Vassia 
Kazan and when I was at Faroe I saw a fragment of a 
letter in Sabrans writing on it, I saw the name of Vassia 
Kazan. Then I heard something from Russia, I sent 
people to Mexico, I had always had my suspicions. I do 
not say I have any legal proof but I am morally convinced 
that he is no M irquis de Sabran and that he was born a 
serf near the city of Kazin; I have changed him with it 
and he has as good as confessed. He was struck dumb. 

You saw a fragment of a letter of which you know 
nothing. You formed some vague suspicions and because 
you have invented a theory of your own you deem you 
have a title to ruin the happiness of your cousins home , 
and your father you work upon me. Often have I pitied 
my brother, but never so deeply as now. 

a— 

If my so called discoveries were false, why did he not 
say so. If my charges had been baseless would he have 
said he would tell his wife himself rather than let her hear 
it from me. 
K— 

I neither know or care what he said I have only your 
version for it you mast pardon me if I do not attach Im- 
plicit credence to your word. Had you kuown for 
certainty such a history you would had you had any 
decency or feeling have consulted your husband and my- 
self on the best means of shielding our cousins honor but 
you have always envied and hated her; what is her hus- 
band to you? But you did a dangerous thing when you 
used my name, I will waste no more words upon you you 
will sign what I write now or you will repent it. 
O.— 

My dear Egon what authority have you over me even 
if you invest y^^urself in your i)rothers, th it accounts for 
very little I assure you. 
O.— 

Perhaps so. But if my brother be too careless of his 



52 

honor and too credulous of your deceptions he is yet man 
enough to resent such infamy as you have been guihy of — 
you will sign this. (Reads) I Olga, Countess Brancka do ack- 
nowledge that I most untruthfully used the name of my hus- 
bands bro!her, the prince Vasarhely in an endeavor to in- 
jure the gentleman known as the Mirquis de Sabran and 
I do here by ask the p irdon of them both and confess that 
in such pardon I receive great leniency and for bearan' e. 
Sign it. 
O.— 

Pshaw ! 
K — 

Will you sign it or not; (she tears it). It is easily 
rewritten. Do not be so foolish Olgi. You are a clever 
woman and always consult your own interests, you will 
sign at once or you will regret it greatly. 
O.-' 

Why should I sign it ; the man is what I say ; he could 
not deny it. If I only guessed at the truth I guessed 
arighr. I wonder that you do not see your interests lie in 
exposing him. When the world knows he is an impastor, 
Wanda will divorce him and put the children under other 
names in religious houses, then you will be able to marry 
her. 

v.— 

My cousin will never seek a divorce nor shall I wed 
with a divorced wom m ; you sign this paper or I will tele- 
graph for my brother. 

a— 

For Stefan my husband. 
K — 

Y<is Stefan ! Yni m ly despese him because you can 
lead him in to mad follies and can make him believe you 
are an innocent woman but he is not the ignoble dupe you 
think him he would not bear your infidelity to him if he 
really knew it nor o her things I know. Two years ago you 
took two hundred thousand florms worth of diamonds 
in my name from a jeweler, those I paid for to and did not 
betray you, and if he knew you had taken money from the 
young Due de Blois your richest lover do net think he 
would be the easily cozened fool you deem him I have 
only named two^ now you sign this or I will tell my brother 
No! he wonld not divorce you that is not the way of our 



53 

family. A religious house or imprisonment in one of his 
Siberian places, then good bye to your lovers and your 
friends you eould cry for them in vain ; now sign. 

a— 

No, no, Egon you know well he is what I say he is 
an impostor. If you were the hero I always thought you, 
would tear his heart out of his breast ; shoot him like a wolf 
of his own woods ! if her honor is yours ; avenge her dis- 
honor. 

v.— 

You have been told what I shall do if you do not sign 
this. If you desire to hear any more episodes of your 
pist, I can tell you many. 

a— 

No, no, Egon I implore you do as I ask. Egon I 
beseech you ! I pray you . 

v.— 

You are a good actress. 
O. 

I am ill ; call ray woman. 
V. 

You are no more ill than I am here woman you sign 
this now. 

a- 

(Signs the paper). You know very well it is true; 
would she lie dying of it if it were only a lie. 
K— 

I know no% your c irrlage is ready now go ; if you ever 
speak of this, remember my silence is only conditional. 

a— 

For the first time I have failed. (Exit). 
K— 

^Enttr Sahran). 

Here ! You are safe from her. She cannot tell your 
story to the world. She will not dare even to whisper it as 
a conjecture. For the first time I have concealed the 
truth, I affected to disbelieve her story ; there was no other 
way to save it from publicity. I shall wait here until the 
danger is past or Wanda is called to God. 
S.— 

My God is this some hideous nightmare, or have I 
lost my reason. I have only met my just judgement; if I 
could only suffer alone, I would not rebel against my doom 
but to smite her so. 



54 

ACT 4. 

Scene 1. 

Wanda. — 

My cousin — is he here ? 
Greswold. — 

He is my lady. 
W,— 

Bid him come to me. (Enter Vasaahely). 
Vasarhely. — 

Wanda I am here. 

Is it true. 
F.— 

Yes—. 

And you knew it. 
V,— 

Too late ! But Wanda — my beloved Wanda — trust 
to me ! The world shall never know. 
W.— 

The Countess Olga. 

v.— 

She is in my power — I will deal with her — she will Le 
silent as the grave — oh, my injured angel fear not I will 
avenge vou. 
W.~ 

No, no, not that; he is my children's father; he 
must be sacred. Give me your word, Egon, there shall 
be no blood shed between him and you. 

v.— 

I am your next friend; you are insulted and dishon- 
ored ; your race is affronted and stained. Who shall 
avenge that, if not your kinsman? there is no male of your 
house; it falls to me. 
W,— 

Promise me you will not. 

v.— 

Your brothers are dead; I may well stand in their 
place; then swords would have found him out ere he were 
an hour older. 



55 

W.— 

My brothers are dead, and I forbid anyone to meddle 
with my Hfe ; if anyone slew him it would be I— I — in 
my own right. I forbid you — I forbid you ; give me your 
word. 

v.— 

You are my law ; I will do nothing that you forbid, 
(leaves her.) 
IV.— 

Bloodshed! Bloodshed! Though rivers of blood 
rolled between him and me, what could wash away the 
shame that is with me forever ? What could death do ? 
Death could blot out nothing. 
IV.— 

Greswold, leave me and ask my husband to come 
here. 
G.— 

My lady — 
W.— 

Be as good as to go to my husband at once. (Exit 
Greswo/d.) 

(Enter Sabran.) I have but little to say to you, but 
that little is best said and not written. Af er that which 
you have told me, you must know my life cannot be lived 
out beside yours. The law gives you many rights, no 
doubt, but I believe you will not be so base as as to enforce 
them. 
S.— 

I have no rights; I am a criminal before the law. 
The law will free you from me if you choose. 
W.— 

I do not so choose ; you understand me ill. I do not 
carry my wrongs or woes to others. What you have told 
me is known only to Prince Vasaihely and to the Countess 
Brancka. He will be silent and has the power to make 
her so. The world need know nothing. Can you think 
that I shall be its informant? 
S.— 

If you divorce me — 
W.— 

What could divorce do for me ? Could it de- 
stroy the past ? Neuher church nor law can undo what 
you have done. Divorce would make me feel that in the 



56 

past I had been your mistress, not your wife. Neither 
priest nor judge can efface the past. No power, human 
or divine, can free me purify me. Wash your dishonored 
blood from your children's veins. I shall not seek for a 
legal separation ; that is, if you do not force me to do so 
to protect myself from you. I wish no words between us ; 
you know your sin; all your life has been a lie. I will 
keep me and mine back from vengeance, but do not mis- 
take. God may forgive you ; I never ! What I desire to 
say to you is that henceforth you will give up the name 
you stole ; you shall be known only as you have been here 
of late— as the Count von Idrae. ' The title was mine to 
give ; I gave it to you. No wrong is done, save to my 
fathers, who were brave men. 
^.— 

The children— 
W.— 

They are mine. You will not I believe, seek to 
enforce your title to dispute them with me. 
S.— 

Once you said that repentence washes out all crimes. 
Will you count my remorse as nothing ? 
JV.— 

You would have known no remorse had your secret 
never been discovered. 
S.— 

That is not true, but how can I hope you will believe 
me? And once you told me there was no sin you would 
not pardon me. 
IV.— 

We pardon sin ; we do not pardon baseness. You 
will leave Hohenszalres ; you will go where you will; you 
have the revenues of Idrac if they be insufficient to sup- > 
port you. 
S.— 

Do you insult me — so 
W,— 

Insult you ! ! You must live as becames the rank due 
to my husband. The world need suspect nothing; it will 
only believe that we are tired of each other, like so many. 
The blame will be placed on mt^. You are a brilliant 
comedian and can humor and please the world. 'You will 
meet my abstainence by the only amends you can make to 



57 

me ! Let me forget— as far as I am able— let me forget that 
ever you lived. You have heard me ! now, so ' 
S.— ^ 

But you loved me : you loved me so well. 
JV.~ 

Do not recall that. Women of my race have killed 
men before now for lessoutrage than yours has been to me. 

o. — 

Kill me ! I will kiss your hand. Believe, at least, 
that I loved you ; believe that, at least. 
IV.— 

Sir, I have been your dupe for ten long years. I can 
be so no more. 

* Scene 2. 
Ge/a. — 

Do you know I think our mother is changing to 
marble she, will soon be of stone like the statues in the 
chapel. When I touch her I feel cold. 
Be/a.— 

You are ungrateful, you little child. Who loves who 
cares for us ; who thinks of us as our mother does ? If her 
lips are cold perhaps her heart is broken. We are only 
children ; we know so little. 
Gefa. — 

But will he never come back ; shall we never see him 
again ; perhaps he is dead. 
Bela.— 

How dare you siy that Gela; if he were — were — that 
we should be told it; oh, no! he is not dead there would 
be masses in the chapel, he would send down some angel 
to tell us. 
Ge/a. — 

Why do you care so much for him? It must be him 
he who made our mother so unhappy, it is her we should 
most love. You say he told you so. 
Be/a.— 

1 thmk he would not wish us to talk of it we will 
pray for him that is all we can do. (Exit Gela). 
Ge/a.— 

If it should b: ? If it should be ? (Enter Wanda). 
IVanda. — 

What is it Bela , you ought not to come here. 



58 

Bela.— 

May I ask you just one thing? 
Wanda. — 

Surely my child are you afraid ot me. 
Bela.— 

Gela said he might be dead. Oh, if he ever dies will 
you please tell me. 
Wanda. — 

I have forbidden you to speak of your father, if it be 
he voCi mean. 
Bela.— 

But he may die. Will you tell me ; please will you tell 
me? I will never ask anything else — never — never. 
Wanda. — 

Why do you cling on to his memory. He never took 
heed of you. 
Bela.— 

I was so little. But I loved him. Oh I loved him, 
and I was the la^ to see him that night. 
Wanda. — 

I know — ! You are right to feel so. Cherish his 
memory and pray for him always ; but do not speak of him 
to me. When you are grown to manhood, if I be living 
then , you shall hear what parted your father and me. 
You shall judge us yourself. But there are many years to 
that many weary years to me. I shall endeavor that they 
be happy ones for you ; but you must never ask me, never 
speak of him. I gave you that command once before, but 
3 ou are very young, you have forgotten. 
Bela.— 

I had not forgotten. But if what Gela said should 
ever be, will you tell me. I will never disobey again, but 
pray — pray — tell me. 
Wanda. — 

I will tell you— if I know, but fear not he will out 
live me ; now my dear leave me I am occupied. (Enter 
Princess Ottilie. 
Princess O. — 

Wanda ! Wanda you are a Christian woman it is 
Christian never to forgive. 
W.— 

What is forgiveness. It is abstainence from venge- 
ance ? I have abstained. 



59 

a— 

It is far more than that. 
JV.- 

Then I do not reach it. 

a— 

No you do not: is it in consonence with your tenets, 
with your dutic s ? 

m— 

I think so. 
O.— 

Then my dear change your creed. 
IV.- 

I have the blood in me of men who were not always 
Christians, but who even when Pagan Knew what honor 
was ; there are some things which are so vile that one must 
be vile oneself before one can forgive them. 

I am in ignorance of the nature of your wrong but this 

I know. They erred who gave you absolution at easter- 

tide while you still bore bitterness in your soul. 

IV.— 

Would I lay bare my soul and his shame to any priest. 

Dear aunt believe me I have been more merciful than many 

would h ive been. 

O.- 

You mean that you hive not sought for a divorce, 

nay, that is not mercy. That is decency, dignity, self- 
respect. That you have done is not mercy. Wanda you 
were so happy, he was so devoted. Can all that have 
crumbled like a house cf sand. 

TV.— 

What did I s ly once, the day of my betrothal ! that I 
leaned on a reed. The reed has withered ; that is all ; as 
for forgiveness, what is the obligation of forgiveness. It is 
the obligation to pardon infidelity, unkindness, cru:-4ty but 
not dishonor, to forgive dishonor is to be dishonored, so 
would my faiher have said. 

Scene 3. 

IVanda. — 

I was harsh to you yesterday my child. I came to 
tell you diat you were quite right to have the thought you 
had. You are his son you must not forget him. 



60 

Bda.— 

I am glad I may remember, when I am a man I will 
go and find him and bring him back. She is very unhappy ; 
if I could find him now perhaps it would make her happy. 
(Enter Otto). 

Otto.— 

My little lord. I have something to tell you. 

Bela.— 

Of him ? 
Otto.— 

My lord; your father has been seen on the other side 
of the Glockner by my underhng Fritz. I made bold to 
tell you Count Bela, for I had given you my word. 

Bela.-- 

I knew if he had died I should have known it. Tell 
me more ; tell me more, quick. 

Otto.-- 

There is no more to tell my little lord. Fritz will 
swecr that he saw your father. Though there were many 
fathoms of ice and snow between them, he says there was 
no mistaking the way he sighted his rifle and fired. 

Bela.-- 

Then he lives and I can find him. 

Otto.-' 

Yes, he lives ; the lord be praised. 

Bela.—- 

I will go and bring him back and then she will smile 
again. 

Scene. 

Bela.-- 

I wish Gela had come, but it would have been no use 
to ask him he will never disobey even to make good come, 
of it I am so tired and lame ; but then if it did not hurt it 
would be nothing to do. What is that ? An eagle! Oh 
you great bird, you are treacherous, you are thankless, we 
have spared yoa and yours always and now you will kill 
me. Do you not hear? Do you not hear? I do not fear 
you, you great bird come take me if you will and can. If 
I could only take him home- -once - -I would not mind 
dying here afterwards but with that undone it is cruel. (A 



61 

shot is heard and Sabran appears). Oh my fadier— -my 
father --I came to find you. — 
Sabran. — 

Oh tell me where your mother kissed you last, that I 
may set my lips there. My God he is freezing. There is 
but one way to get him to the hut that is leap the chasm 
there, around it would be miles ; he would die e'rejl reach- 
ed it, Ah my poor child the snow is in my blood and my 
blood is yours and now it claims us. No I must not sleep, 
this fatal desire to lie down and rest is but the frost that 
kills. God grant me power to save him for his mother's 
sake. There is but one way to escape— -to leap the fissure. — 
God help me! (He leaps). 

Scene 4. 

Bela.-- 

Is that you? 
Sabran. — 

It is I, my child if you can move, try and creep to the 
hut and call; I cannot. He is brave, he has his mother's 
courage. 
Bela.— 

(At the hut). It is I, Count Bela; come to my father 
quick (the j igers, rush out and find Sabran). You cannot 
move fa her. 
Sabran. — 

I am stiff from the cold ; nothing more (to the men). 
One of you if it be possible, go to the burg. Tell the 
Countess von Szalr-s that her son is safe. You need not 
speak of me. Bring the physician here when it is morn- 
ing but say nothing of me to night. Give me a little of 
your wine — for I think I am hurt unto death. 
Bela.— 

You are hurt; you are hurt; and all for mt-! 
Sabran. — 

My child do not grieve so; it is nothing; a mere 
momentary wrench, do not even think of i% I am not in 
pain. WJrm some wine and give it to my son, then wrap 
him up warmly and make him sleep before the fire. 
Bela.— 

You arc hurt, you are ill. I came to find you and 
take you hack. Our mother has never been the same — 
she has never smiled 



62 

Sabran. — 

Hush ! Do not speak of your mother before these 
men, her servants. You came to seek me, my poor little 
boy ? That was good of you and it was good to remem- 
ber me. 
Beln.— 

The others have always prayed for you, because they 
were told. But me, I have loved you always; I have 
never thought of anything else, and I have tried to be so 
good. Oh ! I have tried. 
Sabran. — 

{aside) (When I am dead, and I shall be so soon, 
will he remember, too ?) My child, it is very sweet to me 
to hear your voice again. But if you love me, now obey 
me. Allow yonrself to be undressed, drink some warm 
wine and lie down before the fire. Do not be afraid, you 
will see me when you are awake. I shall not stir, {aside) 
No, I shall never stir again. They will bear me away to 
my grave, that is all. I am like a felled tree. All is 
over. Well, perchance so best. When I am dead, she 
may forgive, she may love the children, (to the jagers) 
Now the child sleeps. Get my clothes off me, if you can, 
Touc h me gently ; I think my back is broken. 

Scene 5. 

Wanda. — 

Does fate chastise me for my own cruelty. I have 
exiled them from me because their sweet faces were like 
his. Does God punish me through them. Oh my Bela, 
my darling, my first born. Yes, you aie his, but, more 
than all, you are mine ! 
Gela. — 

Mother, I dare not say it before, but now I must. I 
think — I think — Bela is gone to try and bring him home. 
W.— . 

Him ! You mean — your father. 
G.— 

Yes. 
W.— 

What makes you think so ? 

G.— 

He was always talking of it. Yesterday, he was so 
strange, and when we went to bed he kissed me a great 



63 

many times, and he prayed a long, long time. He would 
have taken his sword for nothing else I think. I — I heard 
the men say to-day that our father was somewhere near, 
and I think that BeJa might have heard it and gone to find 
him. 

W.— 

Will he rob me even of my first born ? 
{Enter Greswold.) 

You have found my Bela. 
Gres.— 

Yes, your brother is quite safe ! My lady hears. 

W' — 

Bring him ! bring him at once ! — oh ! my child. Who 
found him ? If a peasant saved his life, he and his shall 
have the finest of my land in Iselthal in grant forever and 
forever. 
Ores. — 

May I speak to your Excellency alone ? 
W.— 

Go, my darhng and bear the good news to your grand - 
aunt. You know how she has suffered. {Exit Gela) 
Now, tell me all. 
Ores. — 

My lady, his father found your son. 
W. -- 

His f ither ! How came he there ? 
G.— 

My lady, your husband has dwelt among the Glock- 
ner slopes since he went away. Few knew ii. The few 
kept the secret. I was one of them — 
W.— 

Go on, he found my child, you say. 
G.— 

He found Count Bela ! Yes, he knew nothing of 
Count Bela's loss, but he saw a young boy threatened by 
an eagle and shot the bird. The keeper said that my lord 
desired you should hear of the safety of the child, but not 
of his own presence in the hut ; but I thought your Excel- 
lency should be told of all. 
W.— 

You were right ; I thank you. You have been ever 
faithful' to me and mine. {Exit Greswold.) Oh, my love ! 



64 

my love! We will live our lives out together. (Enter 
Princess Ottillie.) 

a— 

Is it true ? Is the child found ? 

Yes ! his father has found him. Dear mother, you 
have long condemned me, judged me unchristian, unmer- 
ciful, harsh. I know not whether you were right or I, God 
knows; we cannot. But give me your blessing ere I go 
out into the night. I go to him. I will bring him here. 
O.-- 

Bring him? Your child ? 
W.— 

My husband. 
O.— 

Heaven will be with you. 

Who can tell ! perhaps my harshness will make heaven 
harsh to me. Bid them saddle a horse, used to the hills 
and let Otto and two other men be ready to go with me. 

SceNE 6. 

Wanda. — 

I have come to thank you. 
S.— 

Ah, for the childs sake ; you do not come for me. 
W.— 

I came for you. I will forget all else save, I once 
loved you. 
5.- 

It cannot be, it cannot be! 
W.— 

You were my lover ; you are my children's father. You 
shall leturn to us. Your sin was great, yes but love 
pardons all sins, nay effaces them, makes them as if they 
were not ; I know that now, what have not been my own 
sins, my coldness my cruel unyielding pride. Nay some- 
times, I have thought of late my fault was darker than 
your own, more hateful in God's sight. 
S.— 

Noblest of all women alwiys, if it be true — yes it be 
true — stoop down and kiss me once again. (Kisses him.) 
I am happy, I have lived among your hills almost ever 



65 

since that night, that I might see vour^shadow as you pass- 
ed ; hear the feet of your horses in the woods. The men 
were faithful they never told. Kiss me once more, you 
beheve, say you believe now that I did love you though 
I wronged vou so. 
TV.— 

I do believe, I think God cannot pardon me that I 
ever doubted. Sabran ! Sabran! Oh my love, are you 
hurt? speak, speak, cannot you move? Look at me ! 
Speak to me ! 
S.— 

Nay, love, I shall not move again, my spme is hurt — 
Not broken, I believe, but hurt beyend help. Paralysis 
has begun. My angel, grieve not for me^ I shall die 
happy. You love me still Ah, it is best thus ! Were 
I to live, my sin, my shame, might still torture you,[still part 
us, but when I am dead you will forget them, you are so 
generous you will forget them ; you will only remember 
that we were happy once, happy through many a long 
sweet year, and that I loved you, — loved you in all truth I 
though I betrayed you. 



i:. 



LIBRftRY OF CONGRESS 




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